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OK, so where were we? Oh yea, those punk kids had just stolen my resumé. Punks.

I stood in the court house lawn, stunned. My moneys were nowhere to be found. My yacht was somewhere out there on the great sea, being steered by another man (Editor’s note: OR woman. Kyle prefers not to endorse gender role stereotypes, such as the idea as man as the ultimate sailor/driver.), just a normal man like me, but DEFINITELY not a woman. Women can’t drive things (Editor’s note: God damn it, Kyle.).

I’m truly broken. I’m like that song that the guy from Seether and the girl from Evanescence did for that one movie.

I wander about the square for hours.

I have removed my sports coat, rolled it up and used it as a pillow.

I sleep for 8 hours. When I wake up and see the time and realize that I can’t even control my own sleep cycle, I just feel worse. What am I going to do? I missed Tuesday. I love Tuesdays. At around 8:30 PM, Talia comes to pick me up. Somebody saw me while he was getting ice cream with his girlfriend and thought it’d “cramp his style” to pick up his drunk, half-naked, urine-stained friend while he was on a date so he called someone else. Whatever. I don’t care.

“Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been out blogging all the time, chasing my fame, I just–”

“Not now, Kyle.”

“No, listen. I’m the one who was supposed to take care of everything. I’m the one who was supposed to make everything…OK for everybody.” I pause. “It just didn’t work out like that. And I left. I left you. You never did anything wrong, you know. I have to try to…forget about you. Heh, I used to try to pretend that…you didn’t exist, but I can’t. You’re my Derek… you’re my Der… you’re my little Derek. And now,” I take a deep breath, “I’m an old broken down piece of meat, and I’m alone…and I deserve to be all alone… I just don’t want you to hate me.” I breath out. “OK?”

“Yea, OK, but I really need to go to work.” He seemed elated. “I’M MAKING THE GUAC TODAY!” Here I notice a small line of saliva coming from Derek’s mouth to his chin, then onto his shirt.

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Where are all my moneys? Where is my yacht? My lion? My purple robe and matching helicopter?

I look out my window and see none of these things. *I turn from the window, clutching myself and shivering as an icy chill runs up my spine.*

Here is my account of my job search.

The Monday after graduation, I get up extra early. Today’s the day I get all my money bills in. “Yipee!” I say to myself when I get out of bed, awakening all six(one) of my partners (really good friend).

“What are you yelling about?” Talia asks. She’s still sleepy from a big day of helping me print out head shots for the upcoming autograph sessions.

“Today is the day. Today.” I stand up and take a deep breath. Stringed instruments play lightly over the moment. I look out onto the sun-kissed parking lot. There is a man peeing on a car. I quickly close the shades and turn to her. “Today is the day I make you and I rich with money dollars.”

Talia has fallen back asleep. Tired from all the excitement, it seems.

I put on my lucky red boxer briefs. Why are they lucky? Well, these are the boxer briefs I was wearing when this happened. I then put on my humble, logic-based blue boxer briefs to even everything out.

**Currently listening to: Kings of Leon!** Sorry, due to my contractual obligations with MTV, I have to do that every paragraph or so.

After I put on my underwears, it’s time for my outerwears. I put on a blue dress shirt, green sweater vest, gold and blue tie, and a blue sports coat. I’m looking fly. I’m looking sweet. I’m looking fweet (I have a degree in English. I can make up words. It’s the law.). I look a lot like this:

…Ah… A little less drunk.

Ok, now a little more formal.

Good GOD! Way, WAY wrong direction. More formal, less peyote.

Perfect. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

After I’m dressed, I pick my diploma up from my desk. I breath out.

“Ok, Kyle. Let’s go make some magic happen. Make some magic happen. MAGIC!” I then leave my apartment.

I go down to my car and drive to the nearest metropolitan area. Everybody seems to be so happy for me. The homeless man I usually give change doesn’t tell me I’m a “Dead man” when I hand him a quarter, a lady cuts me off, but then slams her brakes on to say she’s sorry.

I reach downtown Denton full of delightful exhilaration. Stepping out onto the grass in front of the courthouse, there is a real feeling of life.

I then hold out my diploma with left hand. My right I extend, palm up, ready to receive all my dollar money or a handshake from my new employer. It takes 17 minutes for a bird to poop on my outstretched hand and a gang of children to steal my diploma. I’m filled with disappointment.

Next Week on BLOG

“No, no, no. At our ceremony you told us we had ‘Bright, shining futures’ ahead of us. WHERE THE HELL IS MY FUTURE?!” Kyle screams at UNT President Gretchen Bataille.

“Carl–” She starts.

“Kyle.”

“Yes, Kyle–you’re asking the wrong question. The question is not ‘Where’ is your future. The question is when.”

They exchange emotionless glances and he walk out of the room.

—

“Kyle, you used my tooth brush for WHAT?!” Talia screams.

“You obviously don’t get political humor then. Here let me show you again–”

“KYLE STOP OH GOD!”

—

*Cuts to Wesley, standing in an empty parking lot, wearing only a loincloth. He is covered in a golden liquid.